It was just too gorgeous out to stay in the office and work, so at about 1, I hopped on the bike and rode down to the Bay. The sun was almost blinding, the wind was whipping and the water was on the choppy side, but it was so clear I could see over to Fire Island. I couldn’t help thinking about what I would have been doing on an early April weekday seven years ago when I last had a “regular job.” I may have been in San Francisco on a sales trip for the magazine I published, selling advertising to agencies and technology companies with my West Coast sales managers. Nothing wrong with that, except my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t care at all about the magazine or the company. I was very loyal to my boss (who is still a good friend today) and had great respect for my co-workers and colleagues; but the company’s owners had very different values from mine. The place was a political minefield, and I had a way of triggering the “Bouncing Betty” every chance I got.
If it was a Thursday seven years ago I might already be heading back to New York from SFO on a dreaded American Airlines flight. I hate, hate, hate to fly. Want to make me miserable? Put me in close quarters with a few hundred people from whom there is no escape for six hours. Or eight. Or maybe 14!
It was around that time, late 2001, that I got off the plane, the bus, the treadmill, the hamster wheel, whatever the right analogy is. I found a way to make a business (two of them in fact) work for me. No boss. No big bureaucracy. Work that doesn’t feel like work. Work that feels like play. No more Sundayitis.
I know there are millions of Baby Boomers out there (and non-Boomers, too) who get what I’m talking about, who have created their own new reality or want to. I’d love to hear your stories. Drop a line if you see this. And I hope you have a great bike ride today.
